The Darkness of the Soul

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Revelations

By now, Harry was expecting it, although he was still shocked when Girard said the words. "Me? In case you haven't noticed, I'm hardly the ruddy poster boy for the Dark Arts."

"Really, Mister Potter? I've seen your face on quite a few posters recently. I'd think that you were perfect for the role. Do you really know who you are, Mister Potter?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're a Dark Wizard, not one of the Light. You've caused pain with spells, you use the Unforgivable curses. You are going to be Kissed by a Dementor if you ever return home. Haven't you realized yet, Harry, who you are?"

Harry shook his head, but it was a weak denial. "No, I can't be," he was murmuring under his breath. Hermione was trying to talk underneath her gag, and her hands were reaching up to undo it.

Girard spoke softly. "Viktor, she's becoming a nuisance. Cruciate her."

"No!" Harry shouted.

"Really, Harry, you must avoid being so predictable. I know how you feel about Viktor and Hermione. Your feelings are so delightfully obvious that anyone within a half-mile of you should have known. If you wish to stop him, do so. Viktor, Cruciate her."

Viktor didn't seem to understand that he was being used to bait Harry, but he still looked reluctant when he pointed the wand at her. Harry wondered if he really had feelings for Hermione, and if it was only the way that they'd been crushed that had made him give in to Girard's persuasion.

Harry had no choice - he had to stop Viktor. His wand slipped easily into his hand, and pointed it confidently at Viktor. He didn't feel anger, though, or hate. Looking at Viktor, he could only muster pity. "Rictusempra!" Harry exclaimed, and Viktor dropped his wand in his fit.

"Really, Mister Potter, I would have thought you would have gone beyond that by now. Can you not muster something a little more powerful?"

"Girard, it's over. Just let Hermione go. I'm not who you think I am."

"You're not?" Girard smirked. "I still don't think you know who you are. You had to make a choice at Hogwart's, when you saw that eleven-year-old boy about to kill your special friend, and you made it. You chose who you are Harry, and you can't change it now."

"I can," Harry said, but it was a plea, not a statement. "I can't change the past, but I don't have to live by it. I'm not that person."

Girard replied, "Harry, can you honestly say that you wouldn't make that choice again? That you wouldn't kill to protect someone that you - dare I say it - love?"

"If I said that I was making the same choice," the Headmaster continued, "that I needed your power because of my care for someone else - would that be enough to make me 'Good' in your eyes? Would you embrace me as a lost brother?"

"I think not, Harry," Girard said with finality. "You still think of yourself as something special, that all of your wrongs are washed away by the rights that you've done. You're wrong though, Harry. Nothing that any man can do can wash away the blood. You've chosen the Dark Arts now, and they've chosen you."

"Let me prove it to you, Harry. I assure you that the Shielding Charms I've placed between us will handle tickling charms, and even Jelly-Legs." Girard's taunting voice made it clear what he thought of those as weapons. "There are only a few spells that they won't block. I'm going to kill Hermione now, Harry." He said this with as little emotion as if he was discussing the weather. "Even if you kill me, the work that I've wanted to accomplish will be put in place when you reach your full potential. I can afford to die for this to happen."

"What if I won't kill you?" Harry replied

Girard snorted. "I doubt you're experienced enough in Imperious to stop me that way, and I can take Cruciatus long enough to complete my spell. Hermione will die."

Harry's wand was pointing at him. He didn't have to spend much effort to work up hatred against the slick Headmaster, although it was closer to disgust.

Hermione was shaking her head, her eyes pleading with Harry. He didn't know if she was begging him to save her, or not to. If she died, he'd never know which she intended.

"You're right," Harry said. "I'd do the same thing again. If you make me, I'll kill you. I'm no better than you."

"Very good," Girard said. "Now let's see if I can't cut the last of the bonds holding you to humanity." He looked back at Hermione, and raised his wand over his head, a sneer cutting across his face.

Harry was a pace faster than him, although he was saying the same words. "Avada..." But Hermione was gone. There was a flash of feathers, and something flew in his face. He stopped casting the spell, and the brown owl moved away from his face, turning back into Hermione.

Harry was overcome. He realized that his mind was going in circles, trying to figure out what to think, what to say, what to believe. He didn't know who Harry Potter was anymore; he didn't know how to react.

Hermione had been there most of the year. She'd been in his room. He was glad he slept in his boxers, and wished he'd stuck with the dressing gowns he used when he was younger. She'd seen his troubles; she'd helped him out. She was probably the one who'd kept ordering food and drinks. The owl had flown off the night he completed the map - she'd known what he was doing, and hadn't wanted to show up on it.

All of these realizations fluttered through his mind, and he looked at her in awe. "Thank you," he said, overcome with emotion.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked. Her voice was laden with concern, and it hurt. It hurt because he knew, knew beyond any doubt, that he wasn't worthy of it. He felt almost patronized, and started to feel anger at her. He knew, suddenly, that Girard had been right, and he saw the look of victory on the Headmaster's face.

"Get out," he said, sharply. "Just leave, quickly. I can't see you again."

"Harry?" She sounded more hurt than he'd believed possible.

"Just please, get out. I can't... I'll hurt you, and I couldn't bear it. Please, just leave."

"If that's what you want," she was starting to cry, and she started to run out the door, but he grabbed her arm. He hated to see her cry. He could make her stop -- he could wipe away the memory that was hurting her, or just make her stop with a spell. That was what the new Harry Potter would do, wasn't it? He couldn't imagine himself hurting her, but he knew it could happen. The anger and hatred weren't buried within him anymore, they were surfacing, and they would hurt the people near him if he let them.

"That's the last thing I want," he said softly, wishing devoutly that Girard and Viktor weren't still there. "I've never told you how I feel about you. I wish I could have said something while there was still a chance, if there ever was. Just - go back to England, and don't let them connect you with me. Tell them anything, just don't let yourself get hurt. I couldn't bear it..."

Viktor was blubbering, now, but Girard was still just standing there. Harry wished he'd killed him a second ago while he had the chance. The Headmaster's wand was no longer at the ready, and Harry's wand flashed out, "Finite Incantatum!" Any shielding charms that might have been in the way disappeared, and before Girard could react, Harry had lashed his arms and legs together with another quick spell. He decided that Viktor was mostly harmless, and just reached out and took his wand, otherwise leaving him alone. Girard started sputtering protests, but Harry ignored him, gently guiding Hermione outside.

"I heard about the Orpheus curse," Hermione said. "I can't believe they did it to you and Ginny."

"It could have been worse," Harry said. "It could have been you and me."

Hermione looked away. "Not worth thinking about," she said, her voice husky with emotion.

"I guess you're right," Harry was disappointed at her rejection, but not too surprised. He'd already told her to get lost - did he expect an overwhelming display of true love?

"Did you know that Ginny was in Azkaban?" Harry asked, although he suspected that mentioning her was a bad idea. Hermione's back was to him, her bushy hair in reach. He thought about putting his hands through it, trying to hold her, but thought that she'd probably not appreciate that. He knew he'd always regret not having held her while he could.

Hermione shook her head, and her hair shook with it. It was almost mesmerizing. She didn't speak, though.

"I don't know whom to trust to take care of her - she's almost worse off than Malfoy," he said.

"You'll be keeping her, then," she asked, her voice broken.

"I'd rather not," he said, "but I don't know what else to do. I'd ask you - I know you'd be the best for her - but I've already ruined her life. I couldn't bear ruining yours, too."

"Harry," her voice was muffled. "If I've got to leave you, I think I should just go, now."

"I understand," he said. "I wish I could say that I'll keep in touch, but I don't know how I'd ever manage it."

"That's all right, Harry. I understand. You've made your choice. You've got to live with it."

"If I had to go back, I'd change it all. He didn't need to have that happen to him" Harry pictured young Falco Van Hoek, victim of a Killing Curse at his own hands. "I didn't know...but I can't go back. If I could make a choice, I know what I'd choose. I'd choose..." he trailed off, finishing the sentence only in his mind.

"What, Harry? What would you choose?" She sounded hopeful, but she was still looking away.

I'd choose you, he thought, but he couldn't tell her that.

"I can't... I can't say the words. It hurts too much when I know it's impossible. I'd do anything to make it happen, but I can't go back, and it's too late to go forward. Goodbye, 'Mione." He clasped his hands on her shoulders, and she put her hands on them.

"Harry," she said, anguished. "If you could have anything, what would it be?"

"If I can ever make the choice," he said, with no hope that it could happen. "You'd be the first one to know." He turned, and walked away, hoping that she wouldn't say anything.

And hoping even more that she would.